Frailty
by chocolatemud14
Summary: Loosely based on the 2001 film of the same name. A man confesses to an FBI agent his family's story of how his religious fanatic father's visions lead to a series of murders to destroy supposed "demons." When this man's childhood friend returns to their town, she fights to help him figure and cope with the truth, while also finding each other. A/U LP. CO-WRITTEN WITH BLONDIIEE.


**Hello! Two stories at the same time? Yes, yes indeed. I've never co-written a story before, but I'm very excited and honored to be doing so with Blondiiee, author of "With Wreaths of Withered Flowers." (If you haven't checked that one out, you absolutely should).**

 **This one is loosely based on the 2001 film _Frailty_ (dir. Paxton, 2001). Rated M for a reason. This installment is short, but it gets everything going. Please review and show some love for our effort, guys. **

**Frailty**

Chapter One

Lucas Scott walked with a heavy step, through the town in which he'd spent his childhood. To many, Tree Hill, North Carolina was the idyllic place: filled with happy old folk, and happy children. He'd spend summers by the boardwalk or driving his father's old pickup truck, which he'd inherited. He'd spent his childhood with his father Dan and his younger brother, Nathan. Together the brothers ran through the meadows and down the back roads of the town. Their father Dan was well-known and beloved, making a living as a car salesman. Dan was the typical doting dad: tucked in his children at night, and they breathed and lived by his every word when they were younger. Not many knew about his...fascination with otherworldly beings.

Lucas appeared to be a a well-adjusted man, and he was, for the most part. He just happened to be harboring secrets no man should ever harbor.

"Excuse me," Lucas said, and a man dressed in uniform looked up from a file he was holding. Lucas looked over his shoulder and waited until the people in earshot were helped or left the building so they wouldn't hear. Lucas looked the policeman dead in the eye and said, "I'd like to report a murderer."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

It'd been years since Peyton Sawyer had been in Tree Hill. She'd gotten a job in Los Angeles out at Sire Records, and now she was a big record executive. She was the one telling interns to get her coffee, she was the one heading those big important meetings she could only dream about when she started out.

Being behind the wheel of her Mercury Comet, driving down the windy roads and admiring the little shops and restaurants on Main Street, it was like she never left. One call in the middle of the night from her father Larry that her grandmother died, and it was right back where she started. She'd left home for a reason, but she didn't have the heart to skip out on her grandma's funeral. So, she'd packed a bag and left. Recorded a message on her assistant's voicemail, bought a plane ticket and flew out that same day. She had left many memories–and people–behind, people she had to face again now. Though that list was a long one, Peyton was truly only concerned about one person in particular.

They'd been the best of childhood friends, meeting in fourth grade art class. He couldn't paint for the life of him, and that was the day they were using and abusing water colors–Peyton's specialty at age 10. So, he asked for her help. They were inseparable after that. They rode the school bus together, went thrift store shopping together, and Peyton even snuck into his bedroom for sleepovers (to which they'd sworn his younger brother Nathan to secrecy). Peyton would admit that after she hit puberty, she'd been holding onto feelings for Lucas Scott. One day, he looked different. Filled out, mature. He had abandoned those boyish qualities. He looked different, and she started looking at him differently. Of course, she couldn't risk ruining their cherished friendship, so she buried it and said nothing–just continued to be there for him in the best way she knew how.

The last time they'd spoken was three years ago.

Peyton knew it was a risky thing, walking up to Lucas' home that early evening. Her heart wouldn't stop pounding and her palms were sweaty. Her palms only sweat when she was awfully nervous. She fixed her hair–an irrational reaction, to be sure–but she wanted to look good. Put together. She rang his doorbell and stood waiting in the light breeze, her jacket hugging her frame in all the right ways.

When Lucas answered the door moments later, he was wearing a white t shirt and jeans, and Peyton tried not to fixate on how his boxers stuck up from underneath his pants. In the three years since they'd last spoken, Lucas had filled out even more, his muscles bulging through his shirt, his arms sculpted and shapely. He had the perfect amount of scruff on his face, (not too little, not too much) and he smelt of the residue cologne he started wearing when he turned 18. Peyton would never forget that scent.

"...Hey stranger," she said, though she sounded a lot more confident in her head.

Lucas stared at her, saying nothing.

"I tried to stop by earlier, but no one was home. ….Are you gonna invite me in?"

Lucas still said nothing, just continued to look at her, turned his back and walked back into his house. Though, he didn't close the door. Peyton took that as an invitation to enter. She walked in timidly, shutting the door behind her and following Lucas into the living room. The house was sparsely decorated, messy, and just a bit depressing. "Love what you've done with the place," she attempted to joke.

"Are you seriously trying to joke right now?"

"Come on, Luke...I'm just trying to lighten the mood."

"Gone three years, and that's how you do it?" Lucas scoffed. "That's great, Peyton."

"What do you want me to say?" Peyton looked at him, imploring at him with those beautiful green eyes.

Lucas shook his head, let out an exasperated breath. He shrugged. "Why are you here?"

"Grandma Rose died," she said, her breath hitching in her throat. She sought desperately for some recognition in Lucas' face, and for just a moment, his eyes lightened a shade. "Went in her sleep."

The silence between them was heavy, palpable. Lucas swallowed, and the noise was so loud, in such quiet a space, he heard it. He also heard his spinning ceiling fan, and could count how many rotations it'd been doing per minute if he concentrated hard enough. "Sorry," he got out.

Peyton nodded tersely. "Look, if you want me to give some grand explanation of why I left town the way I did three years ago, I could probably find and give you one. I just...Lucas, I just came to see you, see how you are. How's your life?"

Lucas blew out a breath and quickly calculated the very many ways he could answer that question. He stared at his childhood friend, the person he knew he could always count on. "It's alright."

Peyton stared at him. "...It's alright."

"Look, I don't–I don't know what you want me to do."

"Well, I didn't necessarily expect you to be kind about this, but you don't have to be so cold."

"Well, you know what? You left!" Lucas shouted, and he only mildly noticed how Peyton jumped back at his outburst. "You left me here, with all this shit!"

"Luke, like what?"

"What do you mean, 'like what'?! My father's a fucking lunatic!"

"...Did he do something?"

Lucas shook his head, anger flowing through his porous skin easily. "Oh, I don't know, he only ruined my entire childhood with all those insane stories."

"The stories that–"

"Yes, yes those stories."

"They were just stories, Lucas."

Lucas sat down and inhaled. "No they weren't. You had to have known that."

"How would I 'had' to have known that? I was just a kid, like you were."

Lucas huffed, shaking his head. "Don't be in denial."

"Excuse me? I'm not in denial."

"So you acknowledge that my father's bat shit crazy?"

"Lucas, did he do something?"

"How would I know?" Lucas snapped, wiping his hand across his brow. "I haven't spoken to him in forever."

"So you finally went through with it, huh?" Peyton asked. She recalled that Lucas had been going back and forth about cutting off contact with his father last time they saw each other.

Lucas swallowed. "Yep." He crossed his arms across his chest.

"OK. That means you want me to leave."

"Well. It's only been three years," Lucas said, his voice dripping with cynicism.

Peyton hung her head back. "So we're going to do this now."

"You walked in here! So, yeah, I think I have a fucking right to ask where the hell you've been."

"I wrote you emails. I sent letters."

"Yeah, I know. I didn't answer any of them."

"Well you know I got offered a job out in LA and I accepted it." Peyton shook her head in disbelief. "What happened to the man who encouraged me to go? Who told me to follow my dreams?"

"That was before you decided to drop off the face of the Earth."

"Lucas, you didn't write to me. You didn't reach out. Friendship is a two-way street!" Peyton stared at him. "...Are you OK?"

"No, Peyton, I'm not OK. And FYI, the man who told you to follow your dreams is gone now, and he's not coming back."

"God, I hope that's not true. I _adored_ that man." _I loved that man._ "Despite what you think, I remember him well. He was understanding, not this...this jackass."

"You leave, and I'm the jackass?"

"Yes!" Peyton yelled. "Don't you remember when we both wanted to get the hell out of here? Don't you dare fucking hold it against me for going places, when you wanted the same thing–"

"Well, I DIDN'T GET IT!" Lucas screamed, pounding his chest. "I didn't get it."

Tears sprung in Peyton's green eyes, as she tried to suddenly cope with the pain of seeing someone she loved in deep turmoil. "That's not my fault," she cried. She moved bravely to Lucas' side, and he didn't move back. "i understand you're hurting because I left. I'll apologize for not keeping in touch, but I will _not_ apologize for leaving for LA…because the Lucas I used to know wouldn't have wanted me to."

Lucas took a deep, deflating breath, and his muscles relaxed. He uncrossed his arms. "I just…I missed you, Peyt."

Something within her lifted at hearing Lucas call her by that nickname–one only he knew about. "I missed you, too, Luke." The silence between them was heavy. "…. Did something happen with Dan?"

Lucas sank down into the couch and motioned for Peyton to do the same. "When did something ever _not_ happen with Dan?"

"Not funny."

He hung his back and shut his eyes, half afraid that when he opened them Peyton would be gone. Yet when he did open them, there she was. He was only mildly certain about why he decided to confide in her after all these years. Perhaps because there was no one else. Perhaps because deep down, he knew she would understand. Perhaps because, he was hoping she'd stay. So, he said, "...Those stories."

"Yeah," Peyton said, gently. "I remember."

"Dan was driven by them. They deeply disturbed and motivated him at the same time...it was him, Peyt."

"What do you mean?" Peyton paused, "…That can't be true."

"It is," Lucas said, his voice laced with conviction. "Do you think I would lie to you? After all this time?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

Lucas shrugged. "I didn't want you to get hurt. And now I'm thinking I just made a huge mistake."

"No," Peyton said. "You didn't. I...I want to help."

"You can't," Lucas said, getting up to put distance between them once more.

"Why not?!"

"Because, Peyton. It's too dangerous, and it's something I have to do on my own."

"Too dangerous? Lucas, I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself; you don't have to always save me all the time."

Lucas hung his head back. "What if I want to?"

Something in Peyton's eyes changed as she looked at him. "Luke..."

Lucas scratched the back of his neck and almost laughed. "I don't even know why I just told you all that."

"Is that so bad? That you still trust me, and feel like you can talk to me?" Peyton challenged, moving closer to him. He moved a couple steps back. "...Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Shut me out. Pull away from me. I'm here now."

"Now. But what about the past three years, Peyton? What about then? What do you expect me to do? There's an ocean between us since our last words. I dunno, maybe I just told you because you were the person who knocked on my door."

"Don't say that. Are you telling me you would've just spilled this to the fucking mailman? No, Luke. You told me because you knew I'd get it. I want to help. I can help!"

"How?" Lucas held out his hand in an abrasive manner. "Look...I can't do this right now, Peyton. I need to think. I need to recover."

Peyton's eyebrows raised, and she stood there. "You want me to leave," she said again.

"Yes."

"...Okay," she said. "Then I'll leave." Peyton reached into her purse and pulled out a small business card. "This is the hotel where I'm staying." She pulled out a pen and wrote something on the back of it. "And here's my new number." They stared at each other, saying nothing for a moment. "Luke, just take it." He watched as she turned and headed to her Mercury Comet, where she attempted to start the engine, but it sputtered and gargled.

Hesitantly, Lucas walked towards the car and said nothing. "What is it?"

Peyton rolled her eyes. "The car won't start. You gotta be fucking kidding me." She got out of the driver's side of the car. "I'll just call–"

"Wait," Lucas said. "...Let me look at it first. You forgot that I worked on cars, didn't you."

"Oh come on. Of course I remember you working at the auto service and repair shop."

"Still work there," Lucas said. He opened the hood of the Mercury Comet. Several minutes passed, and Lucas added, "I'm going to have to take this in."

"Fine. I'll just take a cab back to the hotel. I'll see ya." She began walking away, and something inside of Lucas began to panic.

"Peyton," Lucas said, and she turned. "...Do you wanna come with me?"

A phone call or two later and a tow truck from the local auto service and repair shop arrived. Peyton and Lucas sat next to each other in Lucas' truck, the air around them quite suffocating.

"...It started when we were 8," Lucas said, as he drove through his hometown.

"What?" Peyton said, looking up from her phone.

"Everything with Dan."

In the car, Lucas began to talk, and almost like magic he and Peyton were transported back to their childhoods.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-


End file.
